


Flat Out

by MusicalLuna



Category: Psych
Genre: Bombs, Gen, Gun Violence, Hostage Situations, Hurt Shawn Spencer, Hurt/Comfort, Originally Posted on Psychfic, Shawn Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-22
Updated: 2008-09-22
Packaged: 2019-03-13 05:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13564236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalLuna/pseuds/MusicalLuna
Summary: Most hostages don't have to worry about being sat upon. But then, Shawn Spencer isn't most hostages.





	Flat Out

**Author's Note:**

> Hahahahahaaaa I fail. One hour past the deadline. *facepalm*
> 
> For the record, I blame s_c for distracting me with intense and absorbing conversation about politics and religion.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I do not own Hottie McShawn, nor do I own _Mythbusters_ or anything else that sounds like it wasn't my idea. :D

Shawn wasn’t accustomed to being straddled in the middle of a public square.

He also wasn’t really used to the feeling of a gun’s muzzle pressed more than a little roughly into the center of his forehead either.

Wincing as Charlotte "Completely Off Her Rocker" Riley pushed the small gun harder into his skull, he wondered why it was that everything seemed to get out of control so quickly when he had those sudden, " _Omigod, you’re the killer!_ " moments.

"Get back!" Charlotte was snarling, her thighs squeezing his ribcage and adding an additional level of discomfort to the feeling of hot, gritty concrete beneath his back and cool metal digging into his forehead. Jeez, he’d be lucky not to have a third eye after this.

But really, he could see her point. Lassiter was busy bellowing orders at the cops who had flooded the scene two minutes prior, the whole line of them rocking back and forth like runners at the start line just waiting for that pistol to go off and set them loose. Off to the left the reporters were clamoring like a bunch of starving hatchlings after the first catch of the day and the civilian bystanders were being instructed vehemently to _back up_ as they craned their necks to try and get a better view of a real life crisis. In general, the scene was complete and utter chaos.

Shawn wasn’t claustrophobic by nature, but that didn’t seem to affect the fear crawling its way down his neck, knowing that with every inch the pedestrians gained, the lower his odds of survival dropped.

Gus and Juliet, whom he could see together not far from Lassiter, seemed to be the only two quiet, rational people in the whole world right now. They both looked at least mildly worried about him, but he could tell by the way Gus took deep, sucking breaths whenever he glanced over and the way Juliet’s eyes seemed magnetically drawn to him that they were a little more than "mildly" worried. But at least both of them were staying where they were and not trying to piss off the crazy woman threatening to kill him any further.

"Back up and get your hands away from the weapons!" Charlotte ordered and Shawn jerked, stifling a little cry as the gun pinched his skin.

Without really considering the possible consequences, he grit out, "It would be great if you _didn’t_ keep doing that. It _hurts_."

Charlotte jumped in response, looking down at him like she had no idea how a man had gotten beneath her with a gun pressed to his forehead. Said surprise only lasted about three seconds, however. Her gaze suddenly turned calculating. "Make them back up," she commanded.

Shawn made a little noise of disbelief. "How exactly am I supposed to do that?"

She shifted forward, pressing down more purposefully with the gun and a small noise of distress caught in his throat as the keys in his right pocked gouged into his hipbone. "Just _do it_ ," she demanded.

" _Fine!_ " he snapped in return, "But will you _please_ stop trying to peel the flesh off my face with that thing and sit _back_ for the love of Michael Jean Vincent." The stabbing pain on his hipbone faded to a dull throb as she sat back again and the pressure on his forehead lessened to something less headache inducing.

"Thank you," he grumbled and her eyes—an indistinct greenish-brown like his own—darted away to look at the noisy crowd surrounding the square.

"Get them back," she told him, voice flat.

Sighing, he tipped back his head and yelled, "Hey! Jules!"

Her bright teal and black figure turned sharply toward the center of the square and he watched out of the corner of his eye as she made a few tentative steps forward. "Shawn?" she called back.

"Charlie _really_ wants everyone to give us a little space," he told her. He turned his head, trying to get a better look and grimaced as Charlotte bore down again, trapping him in place. This was so not freaking cool.

Despite the request, Juliet edged forward a little further, obviously encouraged by the fact that Charlotte was allowing Shawn to speak now. "We don’t want anyone to get hurt here, Charlotte. We’ll give you all the space you need while we talk if you just let Shawn go, okay?"

"Oh, yeah, blondie?" Charlotte snarled, her gun-wielding arm stiffening.

Her thighs tensed around Shawn’s waist and his hand shot out. Juliet froze. "No, Jules," he said.

With a jerk of her head, Charlotte said, "If you’re so ready to give me my space, then back off yourself. Now," she added, thumbing the hammer back. "Or else your boyfriend is going to be communicating with the dead on a whole new level." Shawn licked his lips, feeling like he couldn’t quite breathe, and not because Charlotte was heavy.

Juliet took a step back, not resisting playing the role. "Okay. Okay, we’re moving back now." She immediately turned and waved at Lassiter, who Shawn realized had stopped yelling at some point during the conversation and was watching him and Charlotte intensely. Lassiter nodded once, sharply, and indicated to the cops around the area that they should do as Juliet directed.

The open area between the two of them and the crowd increased and Shawn relaxed a little as Charlotte did the same. The sound of the hammer clicking quietly back into place drained some of the tension out of his muscles. This was good. This was progress.

Then Charlotte thrust the gun forward, gouging it into his forehead and grinding the back of his skull into the grit on the sidewalk. He cried out before he could stop himself, spitting out a curse between his teeth.

"Shawn!" Gus burst and Charlotte jerked as he stepped forward.

"I’m fine, Gus," he ground out, feeling the bruise already forming on his forehead. The back of his head burned so fiercely he wouldn’t have been remotely surprised to find blood on his hand if he could have touched it.

"This is not ‘fine’, Shawn!" Gus shot back, poised on the verge of bolting forward.

"Charlie and I are just having a misunderstanding, aren’t we, Charlie?" Shawn said tersely, meeting her eyes again.

Charlotte threw her head back and laughed. Shawn forced a smile in response though he was pretty sure there was no genuine amusement in the action. "A ‘misunderstanding’?" she said. "You call _this—_ " The gun lifted away from his head, sweeping in a semi-circle pointed at the crowd, a ripple of gasps following in it’s wake. "—a ‘misunderstanding’? I’d like to see what you consider a full-blown crisis, _Shawn_.

"A _misunderstanding_ is if I tell you to be quiet and you lower your voice rather than shutting your trap. _This_ —" Shawn barely managed to suppress a flinch as the gun moved to his forehead again. "—is much worse than a ‘misunderstanding’." She looked up, scanning the ring of spectators. "Hell, I think this qualifies as a bona fide canoe ride up Shit Creek. And someone forgot their paddles." She grinned humorlessly down at him.

"I usually keep extras in the car," Shawn said lightly. "If you just let me run up there, I can—"

With a loud crack, the gun hit Shawn’s cheek, sending a flare of pain up into his skull. He just barely registered Juliet’s stifled cry.

He grunted, the breath slipping out of his lungs as she leaned forward again. "No, Shawn. You and I will be staying right here until you tell me what I want to know."

"Do I have to guess what it is you want to know?" Shawn asked, the slight waver in his voice belying his attempt at lightheartedness. "Because I know a lot of things and I’d really have to hate to go through all of them to figure out what it is exactly you want. It could be da—"

The gun’s muzzle moved down to press between his lips and his heart clunked to a stop in his chest.

Charlotte leaned over, bringing their faces within inches of one another. "I know you were at the clinic," she murmured, breath tickling his cheek. "I saw your stupid hair through the window. I don’t care if you were investigating us, I don’t care if you and Paul were partners, I don’t care if you know because you’re ‘psychic’. I. Don’t. Care. But you’re going to tell me where the money went, or…" She pulled the gun away from his mouth, drawing it along his cheek until it pressed against his temple. "Well, I think you should just tell me."

Shawn licked his lips, tasting metal, and tried to swallow only to find his throat too dry. "And…if I can’t?" he posed as casually as possible.

She began tracing small circles on his cheekbone with the cold edge of the gun. "Then I guess we can just end this now." Leaning against his chest, she cocked the gun, slowly and deliberately.

"You realize that even if I do tell you where it is, you’re not going to just walk away from this, right?" he blurted. "One way or another, this ends here."

"Oh," she said, seeming unperturbed by this information. "Didn’t I mention you would be taking me there yourself? Cozy as this is—" She wiggled her hips, squashing his stomach against his ribs and he jerked as his keys jabbed into his hip again. "—I have better things to be doing. Like locating my money. And since you seem to be questioning my planning skills, don’t delude yourself into thinking the well-placed shot of a sniper is going to keep us from our goal." She smiled and lifted the hand that had thus far remained pressed against her thigh. "I have a few friends and one of them was kind enough to let me take this."

It was a dead-man’s switch.

" _Jules, she’s got a_ —ngghd—" Her forearm came down across his mouth, abruptly cutting off his air supply. His head wrenched backwards, his chest heaving as he fought to breathe through his nose. Charlotte’s face loomed so close he could see the tiny spider webs of red in her eyes.

"Just as you’d expect, there’s a bomb attached to this switch, Shawn. No one knows where that bomb is but me. The police station? Somewhere in this square? Your friend’s car…? You don’t know. So now, you’re going to help me, aren’t you, Shawn?" she said, eyes digging into his. He gasped as she drew her arm back, granting him just enough lee-way to breathe. When he didn’t immediately answer, the gun found its way under his jaw. "Hm, Shawn?" she prompted.

"Yes," he snapped. "Fine. I’ll help you find the money."

She smiled and sat up again, replacing the hammer and returning the gun to his forehead. "There’s a good boy. Now you had better let the officers know what they’re dealing with before they do something stupid."

Gritting his teeth and taking a quick breath, he called, "Jules?"

She took just a single step forward, indicating just how precarious the police thought the situation had become. And really, they were right. "Yes, Shawn?"

"She has a dead-man’s switch, Jules," he explained. That announcement was almost immediately followed by a loud curse from Lassiter. "She wants me to take her to the money her partner apparently stowed for himself."

An agonized look flickered across Juliet’s face for the briefest of seconds. "Charlotte, we can’t let you leave here like that. There has to be some other way."

Charlotte scowled and a shiver crawled down Shawn’s spine as her finger tightened around the trigger. "Detective, please don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot. I’ve watched television. I know the only way I’m getting out of here is either in a cruiser, a body bag, or with him. So don’t act like you’re going to ‘find another way’. Let us leave now, or Shawn can leave in a nice black, plastic sack."

Out of the corner of his eye, Shawn saw Buzz McNabb come racing through the crowd, practically plowing a path with his height alone. "Detective! A call just came in about a bomb in the DMV’s basement!" That immediately sent a wave of exclamations through the crowd. On Shawn’s stomach, Charlotte sat up straight, her eyes widening.

" _What?_ "

That was all the distraction Shawn needed.

Grabbing both her hands, he wrenched his hips to the side, rolling her over with an undignified shriek. "You bastard!" she snarled.

"Look who’s talking!" he retorted. Charlotte forced his hand down, the gun angling down to point out at the crowd and he shoved it up sharply in response. No way in hell was she shooting someone now. She growled, nearly managing to knee him in the groin and he twisted awkwardly, deflecting the blow with his hip. She got a leg up in between them and he grunted as her foot slammed into his gut, forcing the breath out of his lungs and wrenching him away from her.

Coughing, he waved the detonator, which he now clutched tightly in his hand. A gun cocked behind him and enough adrenaline flooded his system to get his lungs working properly again. A second later a quiet _shunk_ followed as a taser was fired and he caught a glimpse of Charlotte’s twitching form collapsing to the ground amist the crackling of electricity. The hand holding her gun went limp and he allowed himself to do the same, sprawling on his back, his chest heaving. Holy _crap_.

"Shawn!"

Gus and Juliet appeared above him, both wearing identical looks of alarm on their faces. "Shawn, are you—"

He flashed a tired smile at them and waggled the detonator. "Anyone got some duct tape?"

~ * * * ~

An hour later Shawn and Gus stood assembled with Lassiter and Juliet and several other members of the police force behind a shield at the demolitions range just outside the city.

"That really is a nice bruise you’ve got showing up there, Shawn," Juliet commented with an amused smirk.

Shawn threw up his hands in exasperation. "Can we please stop mentioning it? YES, there is a bruise in the middle of my forehead. Fantastic! I think we’ve all grasped this fact. Can we just watch the bomb going boom now please?"

Gus smirked, and, just to prod at his not-dead friend added casually, "You know, with that little spot where it’s not bruised, it kind of looks like an eye."

Glowering, Shawn crossed his arms over his chest. "How is it that no one remembers that I almost DIED today? I risked life and limb!"

"Yeah, yeah," Lassiter muttered, gesturing at the head of the bomb squad. "Do what he says. I want to see the thing go off already."

The head bomb-guy grinned and said, "Whatever you say, Detective." He stepped forward, starting the countdown and Gus moved closer to the viewshield.

"This is like _Mythbusters_."

Juliet rolled her eyes. "Boys." A second later she had edged up to the screen too, however.

The countdown reached one and, with an earth-shaking _boom_ , the bomb went off fire and smoke billowing upward, bits of gravel and debris raining down in a 50 foot radius.

"Now _that_ , was cool," Shawn commented, Lassiter’s voice echoing his own.

**Author's Note:**

> *collapse*
> 
> This story archived at <http://www.psychfic.com/viewstory.php?sid=1005>


End file.
